Image of Perfection
by wandering in the dark
Summary: Confucius said the destination lies in the journey. He'd better be right, cos after the Gringotts cart ride that was fifth year, if anyone tells me it's nothing but teenage drama, I'll punch their teeth out. Even if they're right. I'm Dominique Weasley, and this is the story of how I lost my mind and got a life.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer : **All recognizable fictional elements belong to J.K. Rowling. All I own is a battered old laptop and too much time on my hands.

OoOoOoOoO

_**Image of Perfection**_

**Prologue**

_I open at the close_

Moonlight.

The grounds are moonlit. A fire can be seen through the windows of a tiny cabin, next to a pumpkin patch, all glossed with a coat of silver paint. The moonlight adorns the canopy of the forbidden forest, the leaves an indistinct mass of grey that sway in the summer breeze. The moonlight plays on the surface of the lake, the calm waters disturbed occasionally as the giant squid decides to take a night time swim at the surface. The moon light paves the cobblestoned streets of Hogsmeade, pours on the roofs of the houses, teases darkness that hides under the eaves. The moonlight bounces off the glass ceiling of the green houses, embellishes the drive of the castle with a silvery carpet, animates the eyes of the winged boars that flank the pillars of the gates to the school. It embeds the waters of the fountain in the courtyard with sparkling gems, caresses the shadows of the huge bolts that strengthen the huge oak doors to the entrance hall, makes the fire lit windows look pale in comparison. It cloaks the entire castle in silver and grey.

Moonlight.

Inside the castle, all is quiet. The torches burn low, occasionally flickering as a silvery spectre passes, looking as though it were formed of moonlight itself. A quite cackle is heard as another silver spectre swoops down in merriment, its eyes glittering with mischief, and disappears into a solid wall. A quick patter of feet is heard as a grey haired woman passes, muttering about how the place was going to be covered in cobwebs if it were not for her, her owlish grey eyes searching the place for any speck of dirt that might have escaped her prying gaze. Moonlight filters through the large ornate windows, illuminating large suits of armour, tapestries covering the walls, staircases which move to form new paths that stay untrodden in the dead of the night, all caressed by the silvery light that has been the companion of the castle since the day the first stone of its foundation had been set down with a flourish of silver sparks.

Moonlight.

The moonlight filters through the windows into a circular room, complete with a dome like ceiling, painted with stars that mimicked the constellation in the heavens, inanimate spectators of all that lies below. The room is empty and all the books that normally litter the tables are safely in place tonight, gilded covers illuminated as another spectre passes by, a tall woman with haughty features, clutching her robes tightly as though reassure herself. She glides gracefully, as ethereal as the moonlight that seems to be the constituent of her form, bestowing a disdainful glance on the marble bust of a woman with a tiara on her head, her features strikingly similar to that of the woman made of moonlight, or the grey lady as she is often called.

Moonlight.

* * *

Two arched doorways stand on either side of the marble bust. The moonlight illuminates the runic carvings on the oaken frame of one of the doorways with much intricacy, as though emphasising its importance. The brightly lit doorway gives way to a staircase cast in darkness, leading to chambers neatly arrayed one upon another, the moonlight caressing the faces of its sleeping occupants. In one chamber though, the torches are lit, barring the moonlight unceremoniously out of the doors and the windows. And in this room sits a girl with silver hair that seems to be spun out of moonlight than anything else.

Dominique Weasley sat on her bed, glancing around at the dormitory, that had been, for seven years, her home. Her eyes swept the room in a glance, taking in everything; the door to the bathroom which had been the cause of far too many early morning squabbles than was healthy, the sole dressing table, no longer littered with hair brushes and empty nail lacquer bottles that had been their lifelines on Saturdays in a time long gone, the tiny desk that was only ever used for dumping their school bags on, before they rushed out for dinner, the window sill, that was no longer laden with books that had been borrowed from the library for light reading, but never really perused, the hearthrug which still had a dark stain on it, the result of too much Firewhiskey, that couldn't be removed despite many attempts, whether human or elfish.

Years of day dreaming and reading novels had instilled in Dominique the belief that endings were, of course, the best part. She had always imagined that the end of each phase of her life would be marked by memorable events and remarkable epiphanies. She was convinced that her time at Hogwarts, being the most marvelous part of her wizarding life, would draw to an end with a -conspicuously magical- flourish. Though she'd like to deny it, some of the most memorable moments of her life so far had only been deemed worthy owing to the fact that they would invariably feature in her end-of-school reverie, thus granting them their importance.

Dominique couldn't help but huff irritably. None of this was _fitting_. Endings weren't supposed to be like this; there was supposed to be a grand party, or a reunion of sorts, down in the hall, or at least some last spot night time wandering, doing something stupid, something definitely out of bounds...something worth it.

She never knew her last night at the castle was going to be so dull.

Dominique huffed again, glancing at the only other girl who was still awake; her other two roommates had been asleep for over an hour now. She watched, frowning, as the other girl bent over a half packed trunk, occasionally flicking her wand and summoning various articles. The girl straightened, looking at the various things piled upon her bed, and pointed her wand at herself, twirling it lightly, making her dark hair twist itself into a tight, messy bun.

"You have hands for that, you know" said Dominique, irritated. The girl looked up, grinning and said, "Sure Nicky", and began piling up tremendously heavy books upon her bed.

"You can do _that_ by magic!", said Dominique, irritable, a little too loudly, and the other girl looked at the other occupants of the room, checking they were still asleep, then looked back at Dominique, raising her hands defensively. Dominique snuggled back into her pillows, and muttered, "I'm bored. When d'you figure you'll be done?" she said, shooting the other girl a filthy look. "In a while," she said, shrinking the books to the size of a matchbox and depositing them in a drawstring pouch that she conjured out of nowhere, "and when d'you figure you'll start?"

"Those for Flourish and Blotts?" said Dominique, ignoring the brunette's query, eyeing the numerous drawstring pouches that poked out of a brown leather satchel, "Do they even stock this lot there?"

"Not all, no. I'm thinking of dropping some off at Burgess," said the other girl, folding up a set of working robes around a set of crystal vials.

"You're going to _Knockturn Alley_?"

"I assume it would be quite the trip," said the brunette, her eyes sparkling, "you can come along if you wish to; Burgess has an extraordinary collection of wizarding commentary on late Victorian muggle literature."

Dominique ignored the last comment, having finally decided to start packing. She slouched off her bed, and began to empty all of her belongings onto her Pride of Portree bedspread, which she planned to bundle up and dump in her trunk. She didn't pause until she had packed everything but her books, and as she reached into the cabinet, her hand brushed against a velvet cover.

She pulled out the book, a deep blue oddity amongst its paperback peers. It was a notebook of some sort, a silver twining bookmark already tucked between thick ivory coloured pages.

Dominique turned, planning to enquire about this notebook that hadn't been here until half a day before, and caught sight of the other girl, clutching a similar notebook, but bound in brown, smiling at her.

Dominique could always tell when her roommate had a plan.

* * *

"So," said the blonde, with a note of incredulity in her voice, "you want me to record all the _shit_ that we got into in the last three years," she flipped through the pages, "muggle style?"

The brunette looked up from her own brown leather bound diary and said with a chuckle, "Not necessarily muggle," she fingered her wand, "that would take ages. But I do suppose those memory recording charms would be useful here," she licked her lips, eyes bright, "what do you think?"

The blonde smiled, "Thought you'd never bring them up." Raising an eyebrow she said, "Not so ashamed of them, now, are you?"

"The ends do justify the means sometimes, I suppose," the brunette said, smiling, "though I'm sure you can explain that in its own element, now that you have the means to do so, no?"

Dominique hesitated for a second. Somehow, recording all that had come to pass, trivial as most of it may be, seemed like she was concluding a huge chapter of her life, and she wasn't sure she wanted to say goodbye yet.

The second passed.

"You talk too much, _twit_," said the blonde, picking up her wand from the set of drawers by her bedside, and throwing herself back on the pillows, "get to work, you have a three year long legend to record."

OoOoOoOoO

**Author's Note : **Thanks for reading! You're awesome!

And yes, that's how I ask for reviews :D


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer : **Not one character making an appearance in the following text belongs to me. Such is life.

OoOoOoOoO

_**Image of perfection**_

**Magnificent Sisters and Sadist Mothers**

_"We tried to shut him in a pyramid, but Mum spotted us."_

_So, let's get down to this diary business, shall we?_

_Ahem_

_For all future historians who are reading this even as they attempt to fathom the intricacies of the workings of my marvelous mind, bear in mind that you are never going to succeed. _

_Cos I'm too way too amazing and out of your league. Ha!_

_On second thoughts, if you _are_ a historian, and are reading this to analyse my current policies about muggle legislation and guardianship rights (weren't my opinions about the being-and-beast classifications just brilliant? I know, I'm a fan of those too!), and this is going to go on record…_

_Let's just keep that "ha!" between the two of us, yeah? I'm only 18! I'm too young to be judged!_

_Now that we have sorted that out…_

_If you aren't a conceited prat, like I once was, you probably have heard of Confucius. You know, Chinese chap, long white beard, the works?_

_All right, you haven't. Bloody wizards._

_See, Confucius was this really great guy. If you've had _any_ cultural education, you'd know that he was actually named Kong Qiu, that he was a scholar, not a warrior, and that he grew up really poor - stereotypical Weasley poor!_

_But what I'm sure you _don't_ know is that Confucius was actually the son of a squib. You see, his dad belonged to this pure blood family, who was really ashamed that their son had no magic of his own, and uncharacteristic of their time, they only disowned this son and let him grow up a muggle, instead of just offing him._

_Yeah, you could add in your Prophet article that Dominique Weasley was a history buff even as a measly school kid. Cool, right?_

_Back to Confucius._

_Now, he liked his dad a great deal, and kept up the entire we're-ignorant-muggle-peasant-folk-come-on-wizards -laugh-at-us thing for ages. But then he grew up, realized it was all for nothing, got his shit together, and went on to work on his intellect, something which eventually earned him a political position in the ruling family._

_What I'm really trying to say here is-_

_You know what, never mind._

_You're not getting all the dishy material here. No way, nuh-uh._

_You can't just expect me to spill all of my bloody motivational crap right here, do you? You have to work for it, young man! Or you know- young woman! Whichever is applicable!_

_Doesn't have the same ring, does it. Looks like blokes were just designed to fuck up and be told off!_

_Anyhow_

_Confucius was a really wise man, and he always said that the destination lies in the journey itself. A muggle called Ralph Waldo Emerson said the same sort of thing centuries later, but you'd better keep Confucius in mind if you want to make any sense of what you're about to read._

_Not that you'd make any sense even with help, but still._

_Now, Confucius. He'd better be right, cos after the Gringotts cart ride that was fifth year, if anyone tells me that all that me and my friends (Merlin bless their souls) got up to was nothing but teenage drama, I'll punch their teeth out._

_Even if they're right._

_Why, you ask? Cos you're about to discover just how important it is for a regular wizarding kid to-_

_No, I'll let you find out for yourself. And I can guarantee you this is going to be fun._

_I'm Dominique Weasley, and this is the story of how I lost my mind and got a life._

* * *

"Dominique, ma chère, seet still for a moment, weel you?"

I glared at my reflection in the mirror. I had spent the last fifteen minutes writhing and squirming more than a toddler imprisoned in a high chair during a sugar rush. I'm sure you'd want to know why, so here goes.

My faith in humanity had begun to fade when my mother had pushed me on to a chair (not the above mention toddler's high chair, mind you, I'm too big for that) to brush my hair. The past quarter of an hour had passed with me launching a freedom struggle against conquérant Fleur Weasley. Not that I could succeed, of course, as clearly, my mother was hell bent on forcing her will upon me. Or my poor scalp, that is. And no one has ever been able to subdue Fleur Weasley nee Delacour once she has made her mind up about something.

Why doesn't the day I go back to Hogwarts should have a moral obligation to be bearable?

"Mum, I look horrible!"

"No you don't!" my mother widened her eyes as though I had just suggested using the Imperius curse on Victoire. Not that I would mind though…

Bummer. Here she was.

"Maman, it wouldn't work anyway. Her hair looks terrible as it is", Said Victoire, leaning against the doorframe. Victoire Weasley aka perfection personified. She is tall, has a perfect figure, flawless pale skin, and a sheet of long, glossy red hair that hangs down-sorry-_flows_ down her waist, the tips brushing her hips.

Hey,that rhymed…

Anyway,on with my thoughts on that fateful morning

As you'd have, no doubt, gleaned from my description, Victoire is exceedingly, almost painfully beautiful. _And_ intelligent. And confident, and charming, and a Gryffindor to boot. _Elle est magnifique_!

I wanted to kick her.

No, don't get me wrong. I love my sister. I really do.

I mean, who wouldn't, she's bloody perfect!

But that's exactly the problem. Victoire is too perfect for her own good, or my good, if I may say so. Let me elaborate.

When she was four, she could play 'silent night' on the piano. When I was four, I blew up the report that dad had been working on for eight months.

Not intentionally, I swear!

When Victoire was six, she could translate runes. When I was six, I brought home gnomes to understand gnommish, which, as it turns out, only croak and bite. Mind, I did try to bring some more from the burrow, but mum found me trying to smuggle a 'particularly profane' batch. I mean, c'mon, they just said some things that Uncle Fred and Uncle George had taught _their_ garden gnomes years back. I suppose these 'particularly profane' ones were just grand kids of those highly educated gnomes. But they said some stuff about Merlin's pants that made Victoire turn up her pretty little nose and walk away. Sweet.

By the time Victoire was eight, she had discovered magic, and predictably, within two days, she had _perfect_ control over it._ I_ was classified as a squib until two months before my eleventh birthday, when I somehow managed to turn my hair green.

You'd think that was the end of it, but it wasn't. Through all my misadventures, Victoire emerged like some bloody star of a pathetic muggle soap opera.

And yeah, I know what muggle soap operas are. I watched one at Laura's house. It was so bloody boring!

On to illustrating how Victoire brought me down…

When I accidentally knocked over an oil lamp over dad's report, Victoire heroically pitched in and tried to put it out with water. How foolish of her-a six year old **ought** to know that oil fires can't be put out with water. And while I pulled off the curtains from the windows of the study like my dear sweet sister should have, Victoire, the damsel in distress that she always ends up being, squealed and backed out and knocked off a jar containing some Egyptian alchemical powder that explodes when it comes in contact with water.

And well, that was the end of the report. And the study.

Somehow, the two of us escaped unscathed. Grandpa Weasley said it was because of our magical abilities, but somehow the entire rescue thing went to Victoire's credits, while I got blamed for the disaster. So no, it was not Victoire's fault for knocking down the jar, it wasn't dad's fault for keeping it in the house, and it wasn't even the Egyptians' fault for inventing the bloody thing. No! It was just my fault for blowing up the report when I was just four!

And they blame me to _this bloody day_.

Even during the gnome incident, it was Victoire who tried to chuck the gnomes out without actually knowing what to do. (Have you ever met an eight year old who doesn't know how to handle a gnome?) But no, Victoire had to intervene and rid the house of those 'abominable pests'.

Yeah, those were the words she used.

At eight.

Bloody perfect, right?

Anyways, The gnomes just clung to her pretty hands and bit her so hard that mum had to take her to St. Mungo's. And it was still my fault, not hers.

And don't tell me I'm trying to place the blame-I'm completely justified.

It wasn't just these accidents that set us apart. Victoire is beautiful-haven't I told you already-while I'm, well, just me. I have silvery blonde hair that reach down to the middle of my back, and blue eyes. But before you squeal 'veela!', let me explain- my hair is neither as sleek as my mother's, nor as glossy as my sister's. Its somewhere between curly and wavy-I think- but it has never achieved the sort of 'bouncy' elegance that everyone talks about. In short, it looks drab.

As if it wasn't bad enough having that sort of hair, I have to wear it long too. Mum just doesn't understand that I would give _anything_ to have my hair cropped short, and be carefree for the rest of my life. Or till the time my hair reaches my shoulders. But **no**, if you have even a drop of veela blood, you **have** to have long hair, and prance around like a pony, batting your eyelashes at everyone.

You think I sound bitter? You _bet_ I am.

And oh, the blue eyes. I bet you were wondering, weren't you? Well, here's the thing- my eyes are inky blue. Not sweet, pretty, colour-of-the-April-sky pale blue, but inky blue. Don't misinterpret that as deep blue-my eyes are just that, blots of blue ink. As for the shape, I haven't really paid attention. You think I would, with eyes as creepy as that? Nah mate, I'm not that bloody stupid.

So, in short, I look like a vampire with creepy eyes, stuck in a bad hair day for all eternity. Not very appealing, is it?

"…weel be better if I send some potion along-Dominique, 'ave you been listening?

"Huh?" I could see Victoire shaking her head hopelessly as she turned and walked, err, glided out of the room. Mum pulled at my hair in a dejected sort of way, finally laying aside the silver brush she was holding and tying my hair up in a not so flattering pony tail.

"Dominique, you 'ave to learn 'ow to take care of yourself. Your poor maman cannot do it forever." She placed her hands on my shoulders "and that eencludes taking care of your appearance too. Cant you be a leettle like your seester?"

"Er, no mum. Didn't you just hear dad calling?"

"Dominique, you are not getting away like zees. You 'ear what your maman says?"

I sighed. It's _always_ like this. Every year, the first day back to Hogwarts begins with me being dragged out of bed, while all the stuff in my half packed trunk is inspected. Alright-so I forgot to pack my wand back in third year, and my pewter cauldron back in the first. So what, an owl can always deliver wands, and the dungeons are full of spare cauldrons, thank you very much. But no, each year since that happened, my entire trunk is upturned, the contents ticked off from a bloody checklist and then mum makes me pack it again, even makes me fold bloody socks! I mean, why do I need to fold socks when I can just stuff them in my cauldron? But no, mum makes sure that I toil like muggles at something thats absolutely pointless.

My mother is a sadist, you must have noticed.

So well, with my trunk inspected and packed, my mum starts trying to fix my _appearance_. Fortunately, my hair has a mind of its own. And so do I.

Mum tried Sleekeazy – I poured it of the bathroom window. Pity it doesn't work on grass.

Mum tried to charm my hair. I ran away and hid behind dad's back. A little juvenile, I know, and personally I don't think sleek silky hair is a very macho thing when you have three kids. But _I_ was safe.

And then there's all that brushing. But thank Merlin, it doesn't work.

And so, my hair stays the way it is. And even though it's drab, I'm thankful.

I bet you're wondering why I choose to have drab hair. I'll tell you why. You see, everybody in my family is perfect. Dad is brave and perfect. Mum is beautiful and perfect. Louis, my brother, is sweet and perfect. Victoire is perfect in every effing way.

And I'm not.

I don't care that I'm not perfect. What I do care about is the fact that everybody wants me to be that way.

Harsh, right? I know, I think so too.

"…Dominique, downstairs! This moment!" I just realized that mum wasn't in the room anymore. Nor was my trunk. I could hear a great lot of banging downstairs. And that could mean only one thing.

We were late. Again.

OoOoOoOoO

**Author's Note : **This, and the following chapter, are the crappiest ones I've written so far. But it does get better! Thanks for reading!

Please review, it means a lot!


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer : **I literally own nothing: must you always bring that up?

OoOoOoOoO

**_Image of Perfection_**

**Farewells and Furry Friends**

_'If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel knowing that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?_

_I'm almost _completely_ sure that the only person who'll ever get as far as this page will be __**me**__._

_Or maybe Lysander, at the most - when he's a forty year old pot bellied tosser who's jealous of me having aged so well, and can't stand my loyalty for the Pride of Portree, (what'd he know, he supports the Blackpool Bludgers for heaven's sake!)_

_Or maybe Lorcan, as he tries to fathom what drove me to murder Lysander (before Lysander calmly walks out from a cave of Kappas in Japan after having raided it to lure out the nocturnal variety of Mongolian Mimblebins, having finally realized that Mongolia Minor neither lies in Japan under an unplottable charm, nor do the Mimblebins actually exist.)_

_My absolutely mental mates can also be suspected to read this, as they'll try their best to find out about the location of the single secret passageway that opens up in the cellar of Zonko's - back off Luce, it's my discovery - and try to get back at the genius that I am by plotting out the exact location and displaying it in fliers all over Diagon Alley_

_On second thoughts, I doubt I'll be the only one who'll make it so far._

_Apart from my biographers, of course._

_I suppose that's another bloody reason for me to curse this book against trespassers, isn't it?_

_So yeah, don't be surprised if your eyeballs roll out within thirty seconds if you read any further. You've been warned._

_Just joking._

_So, where were we?_

_Oh yes, Confucius. Poor, young Confucius. If you've any sense, you'd have understood about Confucius by now. And will stop reading further because this is __**personal**__._

_In all probability though, you haven't._

_But do not fear, I'm no longer the damsel-who-caused-distress that I once was. Not everyone can be born with a streak of natural brilliance _

_(read : Ravenclaw), and I'll only hope for the sake of the future generations (hopeless lot that you are) that-_

_It won't be much use if I spell it out._

_Just read on._

* * *

We were late. Again.

Because of me.

I bolted out of my room as fast as I could, my hands searching the pockets of my jacket. This was the first time I had been allowed to carry the wand on my person. If I forgot it this time, mum would bury me alive.

Dad and Victoire were standing outside the house, wearing identical frowns. I saw dad checking his pocket watch anxiously. It would be a long walk from the cottage to the highway where we would board the knight bus. And personally, I wasn't too keen on that.

"Where's mum?" minimal conversation just might keep dad's temper in check.

"She's just left with Louis" dad said, nodding at Victoire, who stepped forward confidently. Drawing her wand, she took a deep breath and

turned. I caught sight of her face for split second, frowning as she concentrated. The next second, she disappeared with a loud crack.

"We're dissapparating?" I couldn't keep the anxiety out of my voice. I'm claustrophobic, see? And dissapparition, well, is almost like being strangled inside a rubber tube. Or something along those lines.

"Yes, or we won't make it." Dad drew his wand, and held out his hand, "it wouldn't take too long, Dom." Dad said soothingly. I held onto his forearm, and shut my eyes.

I could see Mum on the other side of the road, holding Louis's hand, and Victoire stood beside us, looking a little pale-

What? I don't like apparition, so don't expect a description of the entire process. We're at King's Cross and that's that. I'm chatty, but only about selective stuff, alright!

So yeah, we crossed the bloody road, got to the bloody platform, and finally leant through the bloody barrier.

And voila, we were there!

That _wasn't_ sarcasm, or fake enthusiasm, you know. I really wanted to yell 'voila' and go hug the engine. I mean, who wouldn't? I was off to Hogwarts. For my fifth year.

I was going _home_.

The platform was full of people, students who couldn't wait to get in, and parents who just wouldn't go out. All the 'I miss mum' part comes later, see, when the homework piles up and you're down with flu. But otherwise, all of us just can't wait to get back. And I topped the list.

"Dominique, come here, weel you." I felt mum's hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. Apparently, Victoire had already received her start of the term pep talk, as she flew past me, squealing "Teddy!" Well, that was predictable. Teddy Remus Lupin was bound to be here. Teddy's a family friend, and the godson of Uncle Harry. Uncle Harry's dad was best mates with Teddy's dad, Remus Lupin, who died in the war. And if things go on this way, Teddy will be my brother in law soon.

You see, Teddy and Victoire are _in_ _love_.

No, I'm not exaggerating their relationship. They really are in love. They've been going out since they were both in school. I suppose Victoire was in the fourth year then. But yeah, they're pretty serious, even now. I mean, Teddy is nineteen, and he came to see Victoire off last year too.

I think I'll puke.

But thank Merlin, this is Victoire's final year at Hogwarts too, so maybe the next time I see teddy, he wouldn't be trying to eat her face off.

I hope.

But Teddy's really decent, you know. I mean, he is the only one giving me compliments every now and then, getting me great books every Christmas, and he thought it was bloody cool when I turned my hair green. I guess he was secretly hoping that I turn out to be a metamorphmagus like him, but he was thrilled nevertheless. And until the grown ups could sort out the problem, he gave me company by turning his own hair green.

It's rather hard to believe that he is **not** my brother. But I suppose he's too decent for that. It'll be really great to have him in the family though, right?

Unless he dumps Victoire.

What? Life just isn't meant to be fair!

* * *

"…Dominique! 'ave you been listening?"

"Err… yeah Mum! I'll get to it as soon as I get to school. I'll be pretty punctual, I swear." I said, nodding as tried to look as though I had been listening to each word of her lecture, scanning the crowd for a quick escape route, and trying to ignore that annoying feeling that that I had forgotten about something. Pep talks just _aren't _my thing.

"You'll get back to detenzions as soon as you get to ze school?"

"No! I mean why would I-"

"But you just said you'll get back to zem as soon as you'll get to school"

"You were talking about detentions?"

Bloody hell.

My mother towered over me, even though I was barely an inch shorter. I don't know why everyone says that grandma Molly and Mum didn't get along well in the beginning. _I_ think they're pretty much alike.

"You 'aven't been listening 'ave you? Your poor maman talks and talks and you don't pay attenzion. If I so much as receive a letter from your school saying zat you have been out of bed or crept to ze kitchens, I shall not let you come 'ome for Chreestmas."

I couldn't help but gasp.

I know what you're thinking-that doesn't exactly sound like a punishment, does it? But well, that's because you haven't been to the Weasley Christmas parties at the Burrow, mate. _That_ is the place to be! With the entire Weasley family and all the friends and an entire zoo of all sorts of creatures that we Weasleys saw fit to pet, the place is like a magical menagerie itself. And there's always a chance that Lucy snuck in a bottle of firewhiskey…

And _that_ is why, Mum's words were rather threatening.

Apparently, Dad seemed to think so too,"C'mon Fleur" he tried to reason, "that's a little harsh, isn't it?"

"No, it eesn't Beel!" Mum was definitely in a rage now, "she is always trying to get away from work and never leestens. She is a grown woman now and she steel acts like a child"

Grown woman, me?

Yeah right. I bet mum confused firewhiskey for coffee this morning.

Dad seemed to think the same, "I'm sure she'll behave herself as soon as she gets to Hogwarts, Fleur. After all, it's her OWLs year."

As soon as Dad mentioned the OWLs, I felt like somebody had dropped a quaffle in my stomach. Me and my bloody exam nerves.

Speaking of quaffles…

Bloody hell, how could I forget!

"Err… Mum, Dad" I secretly hoped that this off the cuff request would get Mum off the steam for a while, and the words tumbled out of my mouth quicker than I could wrap my tongue around them "it's just that…Owen Harper won't be on the team this year. I mean, he gave his NEWTs this summer, so the ravenclaw team has a vacancy, and I'm pretty sure I'll make it. The trials will be held this month and-"

"What are you talking about?" Mum looked pretty confused, _and_ suspicious, so I looked at Dad for support.

"Dominique, you want to…play quidditch?" Dad looked pretty happy about my request. I sort of understood why, as most of his siblings had been in their houses' teams, and now most of my cousins were, too. It sort of ran in our blood.

"Didn't you 'ear your papa, you have OWLs zis year!"

_Really, I didn't know that_. People were beginning to turn and stare at us now.

"C'est insupportable! You fly around on a broomstick and 'urt your 'ead , and what happens to your future?" mum looked really mad, "no Dominique, zis year, you will work 'ard and get OWLs. Play queeditch later-you get in enough trouble as eet ees.

With that my mother turned grabbed Louis by the shoulder, and started giving him 'advice' on how-to-survive-the-dangerous-lands-of-Hogwarts, with a rather fierce expression on her face. Louis gave me an apologetic smile as he turned to listen to Mum, and Dad came over to stand next to me. I could feel my eyes burning as I tried to swallow the fact that after four years of waiting for a vacancy, my chance was gone.

"Dominique," Dad said gently, "your mother is right. The fifth year is going to be a hard nut to crack, what with the OWLs coming on, next summer. Maybe taking up quidditch right now isn't a great idea."

"There won't be a vacancy next year!" I really wished the waterworks wouldn't start. It was so hard to keep my voice level whenever I was in a bloody temper, or upset. There were still five minutes for the train to leave, and I knew I couldn't get away before that.

"There will, if you've got talent. Teams hold trials every year to have the best players on the rosters"

"It doesn't happen like that in Ravenclaw! Why do you think I never mentioned this before? The last team remained unchanged for four years, even the substitutes, this was the _first_ time anybody could've gotten in!

Dad sighed, taking out my trunk, which had been bewitched to the size of a matchbox, from his pocket. Placing it on the platform, he waved his wand, and restored it to its normal size. He finally looked up and ruffled my hair, "I'll try and convince her, Dominique. She's just a little tense, what with your grandfather being ill and all that. She doesn't want you hurt, too."

I bit my lip. Granddad Delacour - if you will - had been bedridden for quite some time, and I could sort of see Dad's point. But I wasn't going to let him know.

"It's got nothing to do with that! Mum just doesn't understand-_she_ got to be in the triwizard tournament, _you_ get to be a curse breaker, but I don't even get to play quidditch!"

Dad opened his mouth, then closed it again, shaking his head. "Well, off you go then," he said softly, "have a good term."

I _knew_ Mum was going to say something. I had a feeling she had been prying on my conversation with Dad too. I was right - I had barely taken a few steps, dragging my trunk behind me, when I heard her.

"Send an owl as soon as you get zere, and don't bozer your sister!"

So much for a sweet goodbye.

* * *

While I hated apparition, it did save us time. I mean, you must have figured that out, as I had had enough time to see my sister flouncing off to snog her potential fiancé, receive a not so flattering goodbye from my mother, and give my Dad a hard time by being difficult.

It wasn't my fault - Mum started it.

So, with three minutes to kill, I stood in the line before the carriage entrance, as it crept at a snail's pace, occasionally knocked out of the line as a seventh year pushed past, or when one of the third years realized that their cat had been about to swallow their best friend's rat.

Sounds a little familiar. I think Uncle Ron told me something about it…

Anyhow, it created quite a ruckus.

I saw Louis rush by dragging his trunk. I wished (sincerely!) that I could help him, but I wasn't very good with heavy things, as you are about to see.

Oh, and Louis stopped by to hand me, err, Atlas. Atlas is my _huge _barn owl, very strong, and a really spectacular creature with light brown feathers and amber eyes.

Don't give me that that's-how-all-barn-owls-are…Atlas is beautiful, and that's that.

Alright! I admit it. This time I nearly forgot to take my _owl_. But look at it this way. I didn't forget it at Shell Cottage, just at the platform. Not a big deal, if you ask me, what with my mother ruining all the chances of me being a famous quidditch player in the future. It was a pretty _small _mistake.

Don't you give me that look!

_So_, back on the platform, with atlas's cage perched on my trunk, I finally reached the carriage. I placed Atlas's cage aside, lifted the trunk from one end, trying to maneuver it on to the train…

And dropped it on my foot.

Ouch.

I hopped on the site, tears springing to my eyes. Why did that happen to me every year?

Speaking of 'annual occurrences', I had a feeling that something else was about to happen too.

Any second now…

"Need help, little lady?

I turned to see Tara Goldstein leaning against the carriage, her arms crossed over her chest, one eyebrow cocked as she looked at the trunk with the most disdainful expression that even a Slytherin would have been proud of. The spectacular beast was already wearing her Hogwarts uniform, robes and all. Without waiting for my answer, she straightened gracefully, and got onto the train. Leaning a little, she said, "Lift one end, will you?" I did as she instructed, seeing that I really had no choice, and she pulled up the trunk, with my help, and no apparent effort. I saw a shiny prefect badge on the front of her robes as she pulled up Atlas's cage. Pushing my trunk out of the way, she held out her hand and pulled me up too.

Figuratively, I mean. I'm not _that_ weak, I can lift _myself_!

The train pulled out of the platform as we dragged my stuff through the corridor and into the first compartment, which was occupied by a trunk and slender white cat.

"Hey Artemis." I mumbled absent mindedly as the cat wound around my legs, while Tara and I waved to our parents. Mum didn't look half as mad now, but maybe it was just the distance. The train picked up speed, and finally, I was off to Hogwarts.

I leant back to see Tara straightening her robes and fixing her tie. Finally she ran her fingers through her long hair, ruining it further, and turned towards me.

"We've got to stow your trunk on the luggage rack."

"Nah, it alright," I said, bending down to stroke Artemis. It, or rather _she_ had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen on a cat-startlingly blue with a hint of grey-and a smooth coat of silvery white fur that would put a bloody unicorn to shame.

I wondered if Tara had bewitched the cat to look that way. I wouldn't put it beneath her…

"I'll do it myself." I explained, as I noticed Tara looking at me, "So…you're a prefect now. Pretty good."

"Yeah" she said quietly as Artemis tugged at her robes with its claws. She picked up the cat and gently placed it on the seat, and I could practically feel then unease settling in the pit of my stomach like a boiled egg swallowed whole.

"I suppose you've got to go for the meeting too."

She nodded "See you in an hour, then" then she turned and left.

I sighed and sank onto the seat next to Artemis, who took her chance and jumped onto my lap, flexing her claws and settling into a position that made it clear that she didn't want to be disturbed until the lunch trolley came around.

It's been a weird day, Artemis, I thought, scratching her behind the ears. I almost wished Artemis could speak, but she remained as incommunicado as her mistress.

Tara Goldstein - she was such a twit.

OoOoOoOoO

**Author's Note : **This was hopefully a little better than the last chapter, yeah? Well, thanks for reading, anyway! Please review!


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer : **If I did indeed own any of these characters - Fred. Wouldn't. Die. Need I say more?

OoOoOoOoO

_**Image of perfection**_

**Prefects and Prats**

_"You're a prefect? Oh Ronnie! That's everyone in the family!"  
"What are Fred and I? Next door neighbors?"  
_

_Hmm…made it so far, have you?_

Not bad at all_._

_But then of course, I bet a part of you really wants to know about whatever happened to Confucius, and whatever did he actually do to feature in here. Since, of course, you are thoroughly unacquainted with my whims and ways as of yet, let me inform you that you are going to remain just as blissfully unaware of his relevance as you have been so far._

_I really, _really _hope you're mentally cursing right now. It'd make my day!_

_Not that it's my fault, though-you ought to be able to figure out by yourself. What are you, twelve?_

_You're…not twelve, are you? Cos that'd be awkward._

_In any case, I'm sure that by now you know just about _enough _about the shitty year that was my fifteenth. Not that it was _totally _shitty, though, I mean if you count in the fact that this was the year I first-_

_Nope, not getting _all _the scoop right away, laddie! Or…lassie!_

_Laura tells me that Lassie is a very famous dog on American television, or something. I do hope that the connection fills your soul with the required amount of happiness, cos, you know, dogs are awesome!_

_Not!_

_Anyway, my canine preferences aside, this is where you'll begin to understand more about how important the events to come will be. While the journey is the destination, there's no denying that if it weren't for the couple of shady looking pubs that turned out to be brilliant, and the really cool hitchhiker you picked up enroute in your grandfather's flying Ford Anglia, the destination might've been the only thing to look forward to. It's all about the incentive, see?_

_While I let you figure out about _that_, I will go on to narrate about Pretty Little Me And My Precious Priorities In The-year-that-sucked-but-not-so-much._

* * *

I woke up jerkily as I heard the door slide shut. I watched groggily as Tara drew her wand and levitated my trunk and placed it next to hers on the luggage rack. Artemis slid off my lap and loyally trotted off to her mistress, wrapping itself around her feet.

Bloody traitor.

Tara smiled and picked up the cat so carefully that I was tempted to ask if Artemis came with a warranty card and money back offer. Just in case of breakage, you know.

_I_ don't handle Atlas that way, see, because he isn't _breakable._

Stupid Tara.

"You forgot all about stowing the trunk away, didn't you?" she said, smiling. I yawned and nodded. Might I add that Tara's smile is more of a bloody grimace?

No, I guess shouldn't say that. It would be rude, right? Let's just leave Tara's smile undescribed.

"The other prefect is Stephen Harper," she said, even as I opened my mouth-am I that predictable? "And Henry Baddock is the head boy."

"No way! He's a Slytherin; they can't let _him_ be in charge!"

"He's one of the only ones still possessing something like a conscience," Tara looked like I had merely asked her if she liked sherbet lemons, "and he's very intelligent, if a little shrewd, and knows how to wield authority. And seeing that Victoire is the typical headstrong-and-passionate Gryffindor, I think they would make a good team."

"But he is a Slytherin! That makes him a wanker!"

"Not necessarily," she said ,but I noticed that she saw frowning a little, as though she wasn't all that sure anymore.

My firebrand opinions had finally stirred her sleeping heart!

Or maybe she was just wondering if it would have been better if I was still asleep.

I never really got to know which of the two it was, as I was busy fuming over the fact that a bloody Slytherin had been made the head boy. What was the world coming to?

I couldn't ponder over that either, as at that particular moment, the door slid open, and Lucia stepped in holding out the front of her robes like a dog had peed on it.

"Can you believe it?" She said in heartbreakingly tragic tones, looking at the supposed dog-peed-here site on her robes, "How could they do this to me?" she flopped down next to Tara who looked at Lucia with an amused smile and said, "I suspect they did it through owl post, but you should still ask the ministry to look into the matter." I was just about to ask Tara about this imaginary dog that, according to her, had _apparently_ been stuffed in an envelope when I noticed a shiny red and gold badge on Lucia's robes.

Lucia Perez had been a made a prefect.

Bloody hell!

"It's so unfair," Lucia mumbled through her fingers, cradling her face in her hands, "Me of all the people… why?" Tara, being Tara, looked confused and patted her on the shoulder, apparently searching for an appropriate obituary.

"Are you sure that was meant for you-I mean, it could a replacement badge for Maria, right?" I said.

Maria is Lucia's sister, a seventh year, who doesn't care about rules much, but doesn't sweep the floor with them either. A friend of Victoire, I hadn't been terribly surprised when she became a prefect; after all, she did hang out with Victoire, and greater men have been known to succumb to their company's vices.

Ew… that sounded much like what Victoire, or worse, Tara would have said.

Oh, and I would have cared to tell you that there were no takers for my theory, but I suppose you've guessed that already.

"Maria is a Hufflepuff," Lucia wailed, "it _is_ me-me and Jon…there is no doubt about it." She said in a hollow voice, while Tara nodded in confirmation.

"Jon, Jonathan Blackett?" well that was believable, alright. Jonathan Blackett-the snitch-had worshipped the prefect badge for ages. I suppose he wouldn't have minded bribing McGonagall only to strut around the school like a bull dog with a badge.

Well, that is what Jon looks like-a bulldog. His hair is the color of dirty washing up water, and he has huge mournful eyes that seem to see through all pranksters of the likes of me. Sometimes he reminds me of Fang, but I suppose that's a little demeaning.

For Fang, I mean. Not for Jon.

And as for Lucia, I bet you're wondering what she looks like, right? Well, put it this way, Jon looks uglier (if that was possible) when standing next to Lucia.

Why? Because Lucia is _so_ damn pretty!

I suppose you want a complete description, right, now that I mentioned that she's pretty? Well here goes, but don't blame me later for extensive detailing!

Well, Lucia has jet black hair-really sleek-that go down to the middle of her back. Then there are those _wicked_ blue tinged black eyes-pool black, Tara calls them-and that mischievous smile. Throw in thick lashes and a curvy figure, and you get Lucia. Well, Maria is pretty too, but she's got _nothing_ on Lucia. Their dad used to play quidditch for Spain, but moved to Britain after his retirement, and married an Irish woman. Lucia got the best of their genes, and some amazing on-the-pitch talent (she plays seeker for Gryffindor!). Besides, she lives off pranks and exploding snap, and is one of the _coolest_ people in the school.

And she is my friend-I keep some _really_ good company, don't I?

I mean, there are occasional glitches like Tara the Twit, but its smooth sailing, most of the time.

Yeah, I'm cool.

"…and I'll have to go for rounds, and tell first years off when I might as well have been shoving them in broom cupboards!" Lucia wailed again.

"Why would you want to shove them in broom cupboards?" Tara looked confused. The enlightened reader might have understood why, but Tara was a little slow when it came to worldly matters. Yeah, give her runes or arithmancy or potions any day, but ask her about mistletoe and she would answer with an innocent 'you want help with Christmas decorations?' She was so clueless most of the times, it was almost endearing.

To Lucia, I mean. And to Laura too, especially. Not to me-_I_ found it annoying.

"Well you know, I think it's very, um, instructive." Lucia's eyes were sparkling again. Ooh, I knew that look…

"We want them to start young," I said authoritatively as Tara's eyebrows shot up, "you know, we don't want them to waste years not knowing what to do, or how to do it…"

"We want them to explore their options too." Lucia added eagerly, barely concealing her grin, "I mean, we don't want them to chase the wrong types when they just might be interested in the other, um, sort. We've got to show them the light, you know…throw them in as couples, see if there are _fireworks_…"

There was the slightest pause, and then Tara caught on

"Ew!" She looked scandalized, glaring at the two of us, while Lucia pressed her lips together, trying her best not to burst out laughing. I was the better one at this job-looking poker faced came naturally to me.

_And_ Tara was on a roll.

"Bu-but they are just eleven!" wow, she really was on a roll-she actually stuttered, and there were no big words either! "It's just…wrong! It's not healthy, you know-we are the ones who are supposed to stopping them from all this-this stuff, until they are in their teens at least, a-and old enough to understand…"

"Understand what?" I winked at Lucia-the innocent act was spot on!

"Yeah, most people start young"

"They _should_ actually start young. It's a sign of-"

"Talent"

"Brilliance"

"Initiative"

"And intuitive grasp-y something!" I flailed my arms wildly, while Tara frowned at me, her face a perfect mix of confusion, horror and mild disgust, reminding me of that mint-strawberry-lime triple sundae I had had this summer. Might I add, this moment was just as sweet…"you know-grasp?" Lucia made wild groping motions in the air, like trying to clutch an invisible handle, while I stopped myself from howling with laughter. This one, I swear, would have freaked Tara's brains out.

And I was bloody right!

"No! You can't do that! I mean kissing is one thing, but that is a completely different level…" Tara stopped, her eyebrows raised slightly, the usual I-am-bored look on her face deeply shadowed by the did-I-miss-something look as Lucia and I looked at her with innocent puppy eyes, widening them further until we looked like we had been chased by dementors.

"What is she talking about?"

"Why would first years kiss fireworks?"

"What did you mean by a completely different level?"

"Why would first years kiss _fireworks_?"

"Why can't we do what?"

"_Why_ would first years kiss fireworks?"

"The two of you" Tara said hesitantly, her brown eyes swiveling between Lucia and me, "What were you talking about?"

"We need a new breed"

"A new generation"

"We wouldn't be here much longer" Lucia made as if to wipe a tear from her eyes.

"We only have, um, three years."

"Full of exams."

"And unspoken perils of patrolling!"

"We need new pranksters!"

"Yeah, James and Roxanne need company."

"And Lucy and Fred junior."

"To carry on the legacy of Fred and George."

"The great"

"The almighty"

"And their predecessors"

"Yeah, Fabian and Gideon too!"

"Exactly, we _need_ pranksters."

Tara looked thoroughly bamboozled by now. Which was, I admit, really fun. It was normally us, getting all _bamboozled_ when she tried explaining stuff that we weren't even supposed to refer to until we were preparing for our NEWTs, even with me being a Ravenclaw and all that. So, we got our back every once in a while.

This was just one of the days, baby.

"You were talking about pranksters? Tara asked cautiously, looking at the two of us as we nodded earnestly, smiling as angelically as possible, and completely failing. The best of course, was yet to come.

"Then why would you shove them into cupboards, as…couples? Her brows scrunched together, suspiciously.

"Because we need a new breed." Lucia trilled a happily, bouncing on the edge of her seat.

"So we need to _experiment_!"

"Check their _chemistry._"

"And other stuff….you know level of _productivity_, and such."

"You can't use first years for…breeding, you know that right?" Tara rallied again, hopelessly trying to get a grasp of the situation that she obviously didn't understand. Oh bloody hell – GRASP! I mentally laughed again.

"Why not?"

"I mean, it's the best way. Shove them in cupboards, and leave them to their _primal_ _senses_!" Lucia trilled happily again. I was so proud of her!

Tara closed her eyes for a minute, and took a deep breath.

"First years are too young to have…sex."

Bloody hell. That was it!

"What?"

"Why would they have sex?"

"Of course they are too young."

"We know that."

"And why would they do that in a broom cupboard."

"And where do the fireworks come in?"

"Wouldn't the broomsticks make them itchy?

"But you just said…"

This was getting too long, and I doubted Lucia could stand not laughing for a moment longer.

And I was right. A moment later Lucia burst out laughing, and I couldn't resist joining in too, leaving Tara looking unsettled. Poor thing, how could she have forgotten?

"Happy birthday Tara! We hope you liked this one" Lucia said, or tried to at least, as much as she could while she gasped for breath amid peals of laughter. Tara looked at us, her face blank for a second. And then-

"Planned or spontaneous?" she said in a level voice.

"Spontaneous, very, very spontaneous!" I couldn't help but swagger a bit; it had been good for something that was completely on the spot. Lucia, meanwhile, was busy emptying her lungs of all the air she might have ever inhaled in the past fifteen years.

"It was good, really good," Tara had started to giggle too. I meanwhile, had stopped after a couple of 'ha ha's'-come on, it wasn't _so_ good. "It took me completely by surprise, you know, what with all those wonderful gifts you'd sent over the summer." She finished with a soft grimace-sorry, smile-looking at the two of us, and pulled back her sleeve to reveal a bracelet, while Lucia went all 'aww!' and hugged her. I turned away before the sight could kill me.

Urgh. I mean, a bracelet, I ask you?

Don't give me that but-you-were-the-one-who-sent-it look. How can I help if Tara has a pathetic taste?

Moving over Tara and her Twit-ty tendencies-I'm sure you must be wondering how anybody as thick as Tara could cotton on so quickly to the fact that we were taking the mickey, so here, let me explain.

Each year, in our first week back to school, Lucia and I think up of something that ends up with Tara running around the place like a maniac. You see, Tara was born in July, which means that she spends her birthday in dire misery, locked away somewhere, with nothing but self induced dementia for company…

I wish.

Alright, alright, I'm coming back on track. Basically, we never get to meet her on her birthday. And deciding on birthday gifts for Tara is a lot more difficult that staying awake in a history of magic double period. Which means, that we give her birthday gifts after the holidays

And our gifts are _pranks_.

Slytherin seventh years, potions accidents, detentions, the giant squid, innuendoes…ah, such fond memories. Couple all of that with the fact that Tara is really naive, which makes her all the more suspicious of what we say, because we always _are_ trying to trick her that way.

I still can't figure if it's a treat for her or us, but its fun anyway.

But this year, Lucia decided that we ought to send her proper gifts, and not just the 'silly old trinkets' we'd been giving her for the past three years. Mind you, those 'silly old trinkets' have cost me 6 galleons, 7 sickles and 10 knuts, so I wasn't all that happy. However, we all pooled in for the bracelet instead. We might have tried a prank as well, but as I went over to Laura's place over the summer, I ended up exhausting all my cerebral capacity and that was that.

But Tara, being Tara, can be tricked even with the words 'fireworks', 'broom cupboards' and 'first years' uttered in a single sentence.

So there!

Anyhow, this little let's-laugh-at-Tara moment had definitely been a nice distraction from the fact that I was not going to have a single chance to be on the team, and I couldn't help but scowl at my reflection as Lucia and Tara were wrapped up in their all too barmy conversation about something that I couldn't care less about.

"Nicky?" I turned to find Tara looking at me with a weird expression on her face, with Lucia cocking her eyebrows at me, her arm around Tara's shoulders "I hope you are still present with us?

"Nope, I've decided to apparate over to Beauxbatons. Better looking lads over there, you see?" I stifled a yawn as Lucia grinned back, "and bring me a barf bag if the two of you have decided to go out or something"

Tara looked taken aback as Lucia gasped, and said "How did you find out?"

"Kind of obvious, isn't it?" I indicated with my thumb towards Lucia's arm, who promptly slid it down to Tara's waist, and replied cockily, "well, what can I say, I just couldn't resist!"

"Well, it's disgusting. Of all the pretty lasses around the place, you went for that twit"

"You're just jealous!"

"I'm not bloody jealous; I can do better"

"If you are feeling lonely," said Luce with a sly, rather crooked smile, as Tara shook her head in disbelief, "we can set you up with Laura Ridley. I know her well," she slumped into the seat, taking Tara with her, who went with an 'oomph' and a rather loud 'yeowl'.

The 'yeowl' was from Artemis, by the way; Tara just uttered the 'oomph'

Just thought I'd let you know

"…nice girl that one, pretty and all, let me know if you're interested." Luce finished with a wink.

"No thanks, I'd rather date Blackett."

"Who'd rather date Blackett?"

I should've known.

The compartment door slid open with a loud bang and Laura stood in the doorway, a huge grin plastered on her face , her curly hair all over the place as she dragged her trunk in without so much as a hello to anyone of us.

_No_, Laura Ridley would rather know which one of us would rather date Blackett than give us a proper greeting.

Bloody appropriate.

"So, who wants to date Jonathan Blackett?"

I turned to look at Luce and Tara who were stunned into silence by this sudden arrival, just staring at Laura who continued to beam at them with a rather indecent display of curiosity, until I broke the silence.

"Hello, Laura!"

"Hi," replied Laura looking a little confused for a while, but snapped back into her usual where's-the-hot-news mood, looking around eagerly as she waited for one of us to answer.

No one did.

Ha ha!

"Anything from the trolley, dears?"

Luce and Tara rushed to the trolley, looking extremely relieved while I lounged back like I ought to. For some funny reason, Laura did the same.

"Don't you want something to eat?"

"No", said Laura, stroking Artemis's back as the cat trotted over and jumped onto my lap again, "I just had some with Candace"

"Yeah, okay" well, what can I say, Candace Cicero was a hufflepuff like Laura. The girl was fine, really, but pretty dull, so I didn't really bother to ask more. I mean, who would want to know if Cicero finally managed to learn how to communicate.

Not me of course.

"She seemed a little down, you know." Laura said.

"Must be her period"

"I'm sure it wasn't"

"Did you ask her then?"

"I didn't get the time"

Yeah, right.

"You just spent the morning with her," I couldn't help but sound exasperated, "you even had lunch with her. How can you possibly not know what's wrong?"

"It wasn't like that!" I had no bloody clue why Laura used the tone which suggested that I had just accused her of kicking a pygmy puff, "I could barely spend five minutes with her"

How bloody tragic

"Yeah?"

"Of course! I had been patrolling!"

"Yeah?"

Funny how the same word can sound so bloody different each time you pronounce it.

"You are a prefect?" I scanned the front of her robes and saw a gleaming badge on them.

No, just no

No one can be so stupid that they'd make Laura a prefect. I mean, come on, the girl has hardly enough sense to tell apart the rear end of a hippogriff from its front. If she can get near enough without being hacked to pieces, that is.

Don't you dare glare at me! She could be my friend for all I care, but I'll stick to the truth, thank you very much.

"All right there, Weasley?" I turned away from Laura and the disturbing reality that she had been appointed a prefect, which probably meant the end of the world, to face the doorway which had been blocked by Luce and Tara the twit by their luncheon pursuits.

"Bashir! Been well, eh?" Anam Bashir, smiling widely at my ever so friendly greeting, stepped past Twit and entered the compartment. Stepping closer to scratch Artemis behind the ears, she said "Had a good summer?"

"As always!" I grinned back lazily, taking in the familiar sight. Anam Bashir is the one person who comes back from every holiday looking just the same as ever, and to be honest, I like it. There is something really good about seeing the hufflepuff chaser, as athletica and tomboyish as ever, when people all around the place are busy disturbing the natural balance of things and making people like Laura Ridley a prefect.

This is going to take me some time to digest.

"So," I said, taking in the dark hair, the bloke-ish smile, the dark skin-yep, same as ever, "what about _your_ summer?" Bashir smiled and stretched her arms above her head, "Good. Better than most actually."

"Uh-huh?"

"Yeah," she said, and began pulling out something from her pocket, "I finally got the sort of accessory I wouldn't really mind wearing in public."

"Here ,Nicky," said Tara, as she and Luce returned from the lunch trolley (finally!),depositing half a dozen chocolate frogs in my lap, which had been recently vacated by Artemis as she trotted over to Tara again. That cat really needs to work on its priorities- does it think I'm going to be here every time its mistress is away?

I can't believe a bloody _cat_ takes me for granted.

"Liquorice wands were out of stock," Wanker said, settling down beside Bashir, who was pulling out the mystery accessory that had evidently made her summer, "so were acid pops. You wouldn't mind sherbet lemons, though, perhaps?"

"Nah, thanks. So what was it that you were showing me, Bashir?"

"This." And Bashir held out her hand, a yellow and black badge glinting in her palm.

A yellow and black badge with an embossed 'Q' on it.

In the second or so it took me to realize that Anam Bashir had been made the Quidditch captain, my insides became about as warm as your average ice cube.

Bloody brilliant.

"Well done." I said, not looking at Bashir, trying really hard to fake excitement and resist the temptation of punching the girl who I liked perfectly well five seconds ago , "that's cool, you dese-"

"Oh Godric!" Luce saved me the effort of completing sentence that I bloody well did not mean, and leapt forward to snatch the badge out of Bashir's hand looking...happy?

All of my excitement about returning to Hogwarts evaporated as I looked at everyone else in the compartment. Everyone had a bloody badge to brag about.

And I didn't.

I never knew a little piece of metal could make you feel so horrible about yourself.

OoOoOoOoO

**Author's Note : **Shout out to Abby, my first reviewer! Your words made my day! I do hope you find this chapter better than the previous ones.  
Love to all of you for reading this! Please review!


End file.
